


Crucial Distinction

by irisbleufic



Series: The Apple In Our Hands [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: 1950s, 1950s Slang, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Canon Jewish Character, Canon Queer Character, Established Relationship, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Ice Cream, Ice Cream Parlors, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), M/M, New Relationship, Ocean, Scotland, Summer, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 09:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15168011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: “On what planet, Hermann,” Newton groans, “is a tobacco runalsoa gelato run?”“You ridiculous man,” Hermann sighs, kissing Newton’s temple, “I’m offering you ice cream for breakfast.  What’s so difficult about this?”“The part where you wanna smoke instead of eat something, but go to town, I guess?”





	Crucial Distinction

After lying still for half an hour, listening to Newton’s not-quite-snoring, Hermann is satisfied that he doesn’t have a hangover. Which is perhaps more than he’ll be able to say for Newton, who had drunk most of both bottles of wine the night before.

They’d had a rather trollied go of it after supper, but Hermann hadn’t minded given Newton’s giggling determination. Between fits of sleep and marginal sobering-up, they'd done far better. Hermann had felt like he was in graduate school all over again.

Now that he’s fully conscious and light floods the curtains, Hermann itches for a smoke. But he also remembers using up the last of his supply as determinedly as Newton had demolished the rosé.

“Newton,” he hisses, poking his sleeping lover in the ribs. “I’ve got to run to Jannetta’s.”

“S’too early,” Newton mumbles, rolling over to nuzzle Hermann’s bare chest. “Food?”

Raking his fingers through Newton’s catastrophic hair, Hermann is struck with an idea.

“If you remember,” he says enticingly, “they’ve got a dozen flavors of homemade gelato.”

“On what planet, Hermann,” Newton groans, “is a tobacco run _also_ a gelato run?”

“You ridiculous man,” Hermann sighs, kissing Newton’s temple, “I’m offering you ice cream for breakfast. What’s so difficult about this?”

“The part where you wanna smoke instead of eat something, but go to town, I guess?”

Hermann has no compunctions about rolling Newton on his back. Newton's hazy, half-lidded blinking is unfairly attractive.

“What if I make sure you work up an appetite first?” Hermann asks, leaning low.

Not quite an hour later, Newton trails after Hermann, griping that they look like holidaymakers after a boozy, sex-fueled all-nighter. Hermann tells him not to be absurd: they are _locals_ after a boozy, sex-fueled all-nighter, and that’s a crucial distinction.

It’s just after eleven in the morning, and nobody in Jannetta’s gives them a second glance.

Except the cashier, up to whose station Hermann steps without hesitation.

“I’m gonna check out the flavors,” says Newton, endearingly sleepy behind his glasses.

While Hermann pays for his tobacco and rolling papers, Newton gets into an animated conversation with the young woman behind the gelato counter. Hermann hears plenty of _America_ this and _Scotland_ that.

The end result is Newton being handed so-called free samples of chocolate and vanilla. They’re full-size cones.

“I take it back,” Newton says, alternating licks between the two flavors as Hermann holds the door for him on their way out. “Your huge, obnoxious brain is good for something.”

“Get your mouth up to similar snuff, and we’ll talk,” Hermann replies, leading the way.

In Hermann’s estimation, it’s a perfect morning for idling on a bench in the sunshine, so he makes for the nearest one. It’s several seconds before Newton, looking somewhat overwhelmed, sits down beside him.

“Cut that shit out,” he says, blowing the rolling paper off Hermann’s knee, and shoves both cones under Hermann’s nose. “C’mon, pick.”

Hermann sighs, pockets his supplies, and chooses the chocolate with a hesitant smile.


End file.
